


Defensive Position at the Last Drop

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:52:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lessoned learned in flashiness</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defensive Position at the Last Drop

**Author's Note:**

> ** this is set during Outlaw Days
> 
>  
> 
> ***running iron (plural running irons) : A branding iron which is not bent into the shape of the mark but rather requires the user to write the desired  
> brand (but allows writing any brand).

The sun shone down bright and beautiful and the birds were singing fit to outdo a big city symphony. Overall, it was a day so perfect it simply made a person glad to be alive. Riding along, Hannibal Heyes smiled, pulling a cigar from his inside vest pocket, inhaling deeply of its rich aroma he thought, ‘ah what the hell.’ Lighting it he released smoke in regular intervals like his own streaming banner as he rode along enjoying the sheer luxury of being out on such a stunning day, smoking good tobacco and not having a care in the world. Coming around a bend, he could see the varied colored roofs of one of the many little towns that happened to be in riding distance of the Devil’s Hole. Knowing he was nearing home and his reconnaissance journey for Big Jim was nearly over, he grinned even larger feeling if possible even happier on this glorious day when about half a mile out of town he felt a distinct shift in his horse’s steady gait. 

Frowning he slid from the saddle, “Easy boy.” He said running a hand down his horses legs, “Let me take a look.” As he did, it did not take long for him to find the shoe of the left near hoof was preparing to let go. “Looks like we will both be limping into town.” His horse shoved his head against Heyes knocking him to the side. “Hey I’m serious, you know how much I loathe walking.”

Walking down Main Street, Heyes did feel like limping and was also thinking Big Jim might have been correct about wearing flat-heeled boots of soft leather boots rather than the fancy, high-heeled boots Heyes was currently grimacing down at. Spying the livery stable, he swung over to the hitching post, swinging his reins once around the rail, he called, “Hello?” There was no answer. With frown, he looked up and down the quiet street, “Is everyone on siesta?” he mumbled his eyes taking in the sign of the Last Drop saloon just next door. Patting his gelding, he said, “Hang on Buck, I’ll see if I can’t find us some help.” 

As he approached, the shotgun shack he thought it appeared to be living up to its name on many levels. Tugging his hat low and adjusting his belt, so his gun hung in the correct position, Heyes stepped through the doors. Seeing only the barkeep and one other man at the bar, he heaved a sigh of relief. For although, he knew he could take care of himself, he also found the closer he got to the Hole it seemed the more he was recognized and with the bounty on his name growing faster than a wheat harvest – well he just felt a dash nervous being on his lonesome and all. Walking up to the two men, he smiled at the gent nearest him as he had the look of a blacksmith from his muscle packed arms to the leather apron hanging free about his neck. “Why Sir you are exactly the man I need.”

The Smith turned a questioning eye to Heyes and took a long draw from his beer mug. 

“My horse is in need of some shoe repair.”

“Then I see how I could be the man you require, for five dollars, that is.”

“Five.” Heyes took a half step back. “Why that is highway robbery!”

The Smith took another drink, “For five, I’ll have you fixed up right quick but for two, I’ll get around to your hoss sometime today. It’s up to you.” 

While they were discussing this, a saloon gal well past any sort of prime ambled out and seeing her Heyes said, “When you put it that way, five sounds just fine.”

Setting down his empty mug, the Smith grinned flashing a shiny gold molar, “I’ll get to it then. Hang out here and I’ll whistle for you when I’m done.” 

Heyes nodded and sidling about the scantily clad woman, he thought, she looks old enough to be my aunt and a shudder ran the length of his spine. Turning his back to her, he said. “I’ll take a beer.”

“Warm or Cold?”

His brows furrowed and before he could ask the barkeep pointed at a sign, ‘Cold Beer .10 – Warm Beer ½ off’

“Cold.” He replied sitting down at the bar. Sipping at the beer, watching the door from the corner of his eye, he saw five men come strutting in. 

“Hey Ray, who owns that flashy paint with the silver mex saddle?”

All eyes turned to Heyes and he felt his stomach drop out. Placing a dime on the bar, he smiled blandly at the barkeep thinking it might be best to get back to the livery. Just when he thought, he was in the clear the biggest one of the five, who also had his arm now draped about the saloon gal said, “Hey boy! Ain’t you got any manners, you remove your hat in the presence of a lady.” 

‘Lady my white backside.’ Heyes thought flicking forth a dimpled grin and whipping his hat off but even as he did, the group of them began laughing. He knew in that moment, he had better think of something and real quick because one against five was going to make for a short painful fight. Before he could think it through, he reached out kicking the leader of the group right in the knee and snatching up a chair, jumped back taking on a defensive position. “Watch it gents! He’s bodaciously dangerous.” 

The other four and the saloon gal, who he now realized were close to being staggering drunk, stumbled back unable to decide if they should watch Heyes or the giant bear of man cursing and rolling on the floor.

“Y’all this here man is a undercover agent. He’s been sent to our neck of the woods to rile up a range war.” 

The big man was still grasping his knee and his pals were inching closer keen to listen to what Heyes had to say. 

One of them even muttered, “Range war.” like a lost phrase to no one in particular. 

“Yes Siree. This here man.” Heyes pointed dramatically at the wounded bear trying to put weight on the damaged knee. “He’s good friends with them sheep loving, soil tilling, non-cattle raising folks you’ve heard of. I bet he eve carries a farmer’s almanac in his saddle bags. Hell would you believe this snake in the grass has gone as far as to not only carry but also operate a running iron?” While talking up a storm and laying it on with homely vernacular as thick as Oklahoma clay, Heyes kept edging toward the door thinking, he might be home free especially since every eye in the place was focused on the man he had just kicked. 

When the man crawled to his feet, his face a flush with pain or maybe anger or perhaps both as he bellowed, “You idgits! You know he’s lying. I own a cattle spread and you two have known me all your lives. Hell, I can’t even read…why would I carry around an almanac?”

Seeing the door within range, Heyes thought he might still make it out alive when he heard the limping man start on about his tied down gun and costly silver-trimmed hat Knowing his borrowed luck was all used up, he bolted through the door. By the time he was leaping from the boardwalk, he saw the Smith was dropping his horse’s rear hoof and slipping his hammer back in the apron pocket. Never slowing down, Heyes pulled out a five and tossing it to the Smith, he never felt the stirrup beneath his boot as he leapt in the saddle. Spinning the paint, the horse took off as if he was scalded but passing by that crowed rolling out into the street from the Last Drop, a wicked grin twisted up on Heyes’ face. Even though he knew, he should stay pointed for the hills he went right ahead and pulled his gelding about. Before he knew it, the pair of them were weaving through that bunch, hissing, spinning and throwing a ton of dust in the air. Heyes laughed rolled out loud and clear when he saw how he and Buck had them all skipping and jumping like they was trying to avoid a nest of rattlers. When he figured, he had better clear out before they came to their senses and started slapping leather. So aiming Buck out of town, Heyes laid his heels down and that paint took off as if a bullet had creased its hide, throwing gravel and getting down to the business of running. 

Once they were navigating one of the many roads up to the Hole, Heyes pulled the paint up and looking behind him, he tipped his hat back grinning. “Hell maybe Big Jim is right, paints and silver draw too much attention.” He patted his horse, taking an admiring look at his silver studded saddle. “Yep, too much attention might be time to trade down.” Throwing one more look over his shoulder, he found he could barely see the town anymore, “and perhaps re-route my trip home in the future to avoid that particular little burg.”

**Author's Note:**

> I also need to give a nod to the great songwriter Charlie Daniels. You ever go to bed with a song in your head. Well, I did and it re-wrapped or mayhaps re-wrote itself into this quick little story. Thanks for the blatant muse here Mr. Daniels.


End file.
